The Reading of the Card, Part II
by wolfgirl2001
Summary: It's the year of The 76th Hunger Games- and so much has changed since the Quarter Quell. Prim. Katniss and Peeta- they're married now. They, along with Haymitch, mentor a new crop of tributes, while the rebellion grows all around them. A continuation of my previous story, The Reading of the Card.
1. Chapter 1

A/N:

This story picks up right where my first story, _The Reading of the Card_, left off. For those of you who haven't read it yet, it is basically an alternate ending for _Catching Fire_ which begins (not coincidentally) at the reading of the card before the Quarter Quell. I haven't been able to think of a good title for this new story yet; hopefully one will spring into my head later, and I'll change it accordingly. I will be a lot busier in a couple of weeks and won't have time to update as often as before, but I'll do what I can. Enjoy! And of course, I welcome any type of constructive feedback :) Thanks for reading.

Chapter 1:

Returning from the Capitol on the train, exactly one week to the day after Peeta's and my wedding, I focus my gaze out the window, watching the fields of District 11 pass by in blurs the colors of wheat and tobacco. Peeta is sitting beside me, holding my hand, while gently twisting my newly acquired wedding band around my finger- a habit he has seemingly picked up in the short time since we've been married. I manage a brief smile- the gesture is comforting. Since we're getting ready to face our family and friends from District 12 for the first time since things irrevocably changed the day of our wedding (and, well, the night of our wedding, and for an entirely different reason earlier today), I can use the comfort. But I don't look away from the glass; I find that I don't think I can even meet Peeta's eyes, as supportive and unassuming as they may be, without either flushing a deep shade of crimson or bursting into tears on his shoulder.

In the past week, Peeta and I did nothing different from what most ordinary married couples do on their honeymoons. We didn't do anything illegal, or immoral, or, for that matter, anything that didn't seem to be completely accepted or even encouraged by the Capitol. Though, to be fair, we might have done a little more of it than your average newlyweds. Peeta and I were in the fairly unique position of not having any reason at all, aside from occasionally wanting to see sunset views from the roof, to leave the twelfth floor of the Training Center tower. We weren't on vacation, there was nothing to sightsee, and we wanted to stay as sheltered from President Snow and the rest of the Capitol citizens as possible. We sought out reassurance from the Capitol's horrific actions during the Quell in each other's arms- and after the love that we made on our wedding night, holding each other close would never be the same again. Not with how amazing and comfortable he felt. Not with how _curious_ we both were.

But what came as a surprise, at least to me, was that during the week, not once were Peeta and I interrupted- not for meals, not for announcements, not for TV appearances. Not a peep by President Snow, Effie, or the prep teams. We would emerge after long nights in the honeymoon suite to find a scrumptious breakfast (or even last night's dinner) laid out on the twelfth floor eating area- complete with high-tech covers presumably invented at the Capitol to keep the food piping hot. So the Capitol wanted to keep us nourished, but not in any way interfere with what we were doing. The only thing I could realistically conclude was that they were subtly encouraging us to conceive a child.

I take a deep breath, stomach suddenly feeling a little queasy, and I know it isn't from the train motion. Despite my adamant insistence that I never wanted to have kids, I could very well be pregnant right now. The lavish gifts bestowed upon us by the Capitol for our wedding and wedding night didn't include any means to protect ourselves from that kind of thing happening, and neither of us were experienced enough to know where to seek it out at the Capitol. And once things started, the logical part of my brain that would scream that we were making a mistake would get overwhelmingly deafened, and then temporarily abandoned altogether, by the rest of me crying out in pleasure. Not an uncommon occurrence, I suppose. Hard to imagine anyone born in District 12 in these times was a well-planned and thought-out move by their parents- the Capitol presence was too scary, the conditions were too rough, and as a District we were too poor. More likely, kids were born at least partly because their parents didn't want to forget that love existed at all. After everything we witnessed during the Quell, I suppose I couldn't really fault them for that.

The only thing we heard out of the Capitol was when Peacekeepers arrived the morning of our departure, ready to escort us to the train station. They respectfully requested that we wait in the Training Center for President Snow to drop by and give us his best wishes. When he arrived, he looked pleased, in his usual snake-like way, quickly rousing our suspicion that he was up to no good. He surveyed Peeta and me approvingly.

"I hope that you two had an enjoyable honeymoon, and that the suite was to your liking," he began, a little twinkle in his eye. Reflexively, I shuddered.

"I simply wanted to remind you that your presence is expected on Prim's Victory Tour, slated to begin in approximately six months," he continued. "It will be extended from previous tours, as the tours for the Quell require at least an extra day of celebrations in each of the districts. As previous Victors, as Panem's favorite couple, and as people who want to keep the rest of your extended District 12 families happy and healthy-" I shivered involuntarily as my blood ran cold at his words, "-I expect your full cooperation. Though I had toiled about canceling the tour altogether, with the events that unfolded at the Quell…"

Snow's eye twinkle vanished as our minds all drifted back to the events of the last couple of weeks. Attempted penetration of the arena by rebels in Districts 3, 4, and 8; open rebellion in several other Districts; public hangings. How could he think that a Victory Tour is appropriate? How could we go into District 8, where Jack and Mouseface, despite having survived the Quell up to that point, had been so brutally executed for their District's aggression, and celebrate it so glaringly? Impossible.

My thoughts were disrupted as President Snow spoke again. "What I finally concluded," he said, voice stronger now, "is that the People of Panem desperately need something to celebrate, something to bring them together in a positive way. We have to stop the rebellious fire from catching, we need to distract them, give them something else to focus on besides fighting. Not like last year," he added bitterly, pointedly glaring at Peeta and me, momentarily dropping his cheerful façade. "The challenge is comparable, but will be infinitely more difficult; to contain this fire you're going to have to do a whole lot better than a marriage proposal." He paused, then added, "But you're at an advantage from last year. You're both in the know, and you can inform Prim and Haymitch. You have both experience and time to prepare. Be creative. I'll grant you the freedom to decide what you'll say- at least at first. You can speak freely at the Victory Tour stop in District 11, and if you succeed than I won't interfere at the next stop. If you mess up- you will read what we write for you, or face severe consequences." I shivered again. "You have six months," he said finally, "until you see me again, to come up with something that will help us. After all the Capitol has done for you, it is the very least you can do in return. Good luck."

My suspicions of Snow's intentions were immediately confirmed when he leaned close to me and whispered into my ear, "And I do rather hope that you might look a little….different….the next time that I see you."

Or maybe the Capitol was not-so-subtly encouraging us to conceive a child.

* * *

Peeta gently massages the back of my neck with his other hand, jerking my thoughts back to the present. For now we are heading home, but things are going to be nerve-wracking. The stress I felt on the Victory Tour last year will not only be magnified- it will be prolonged for over half a year as we prepare to try to achieve the impossible. We've been out of the loop for the past week, so we haven't received any updates from Haymitch or anyone else about the state of the rebelling districts- whether Districts 7 and 11 were able to regain any control of their town squares; whether Districts 3, 4, and 8 have begun to recover from the Capitol's retaliation; even whether District 12 has planned any sort of uprising. But to me, halting any sort of rebellion at this point will be like trying to stop the spread of a raging forest blaze with a fire extinguisher.

On a less serious note, our homecoming is just going to be plain awkward. Though a married couple, we are still only seventeen- with my mother insisting just a few months ago that I wasn't even allowed to have a boyfriend. Would I even be able to look her in the eye without feeling like I let her down in some way? What if Prim has questions- would I even be able to talk to her openly and honestly? I cringe as I think of what my reaction were to be if by chance I came face-to-face with Gale.

As we approach the outskirts of District 12, we notice that, at least at first glance from the train, District 12 hasn't changed much from when we had last seen it. The square is still filled with Peacekeepers; the whipping post and gallows still remain set up in the corner; the townspeople have left it deserted. But I couldn't feel more different.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2:

Like the town square, from the outside Victor's Village appears as I remember; nothing overtly stands out as having been shifted. Upon closer inspection, however, it is clear that our living quarters have changed. I enter my old house first; when I do, it is apparent that my belongings are no longer there; at some point the Capitol must have actually had someone to come in and relocate them. But when I bound upstairs and look around all of the bedrooms, I see that Prim's stuff is gone, too- which surprises me. Though I knew that Victors got their own places, Prim was still just thirteen, and the only other person that she would be cohabitating with would be my mother. Though I suppose I shouldn't be surprised; the Capitol likes to split families apart as much as they can.

Next, I run the few houses down to see if Peeta is still there. Turns out, that's where my stuff had been moved after all- so I was moving in with him instead of us being put in a new place together. Peeta is there and slowly walking around, staring at the addition of my meager possessions that have already been unpacked and set up, and grinning. I smile. We're husband and wife, and we're going to be living together. It feels real now.

But I don't dwell in the moment; I want to see where my sister is living. I don't worry; there are only so many choices. We find that she is in the place next door to Haymitch. She has even fewer things than I do; thankfully the place has already come fully furnished for her. Peeta and I gently open the door and step inside, calling out her name. Even filled up with stuff, the house looks lonely.

"Prim!" I shout again. She appears at the top of the stairs. She had looked sad, but upon seeing each other we both break out into grins. She runs down the stairs and crashes into my arms.

"Katniss," she says softly. I hug her fiercely. For a long time I didn't know if I was ever going to see her again. And now she's safe. At least for the next six months….

The knot in my stomach forms again as I think of President Snow's proposal. I refuse to get emotional- we have plenty of time to figure something out. But if we're going to come up with something good, the more time we have the better. "C'mon," I say to her, grasping her hand. "Let's go over and see Haymitch."

We enter Haymitch's house to find him passed out on the table; drool accumulating near his cheek, liquor bottle within reach. I shake my head. "Has he been like this all week?" I whisper to Prim. "Did you check on him?"

Prim nods. "He's been taking this all pretty hard. He put on a brave face for your wedding, I think," she smiles ruefully. "It was a happy time," she corrects herself, "but it didn't last, and now he's thinking about everything that the alliance lost in the rebellion. He hasn't told anyone whether he's been communicating with any of the other districts," she says.

I am sure that he has, and I'm also sure that he was waiting until Peeta and I got back to fill us in. I didn't let thoughts of rebellion or strategy linger on our honeymoon (since there was nothing that either Peeta or I could do about it at that time anyway), but now that we're in the position to speak to Haymitch, and perhaps actually do something, I find I can't wait another second. I lean over and shake Haymitch vigorously. When his response is an irritable grunt, I slap him hard across the face.

Haymitch's eyes widen in shock; as he stiffens his entire body with a jolt his feet push off the ground, and he sends his chair toppling backward. Thankfully, Peeta is in the prime position to catch him before he spills onto the floor. As Peeta steadies him, Haymitch seems to orient himself a bit.

"Well?" I shout at him, unfazed.

"Well, what, sweetheart?" He responds testily, slurring. "Trying to ruin my nap? If so, mission accomplished."

"That wasn't a nap, that was a blackout," I counter. I'm in no state of mind for his inebriation. "Well, what's going on? Who have you talked to?" I persist.

Haymitch doesn't gesture for us to lower our voices or head outside in case the Capitol is keeping tabs on our houses. I know immediately that that's a bad sign. After a moment, he just shakes his head and shrugs. "Not a thing, sweetheart." He slowly enunciates the words to keep from slurring, and possibly to belittle me.

"So-" I phrase my words carefully, "You, um, haven't spoken to anyone about, um, anything?"

Haymitch rolls his eyes. "Of course I have," he retorts, "but I don't have anything to tell you right now."

I look at him questioningly. This vagueness was killing me. I gesture for us to go outside. Haymitch, Prim, and Peeta reluctantly follow me out the door.

Once in the cool evening air, I gesture to the door from which we just exited. "Can't you get Hazelle to spend a few days here looking for anything the Capitol might be using?" I whisper harshly, referring to wire-taps or bugs or whatever.

Haymitch shrugs. The brisk walk outside seemed to sober him up a bit. "All of my phone calls are from outside the house," he replies, "the only conversations that I would worry about are ones with you two." He looks back and forth between Peeta and me. "But that's actually not a bad idea, sweetheart."

"Well, we're going to be having a lot more of them in the next six months, so perhaps you should ask her?" I say pointedly before continuing. "President Snow spoke with us this morning," I say, lowering my voice, "and we're somehow supposed to stop any flicker of rebellion on Prim's Victory Tour."

Haymitch shrugs again, looking downward. "That might not be that hard," he replies glumly. "I reached out to my usual contacts; a lot of them died that day," he said, referring to the attempted arena-break. Then silence. His voice gets a little wobbly as he adds after a few seconds, "even Fish-Man. He returned to fight for District Four." He raises his head, and even in the dusk I can see redness in his eyes. And not just from the alcohol. This was so hard for him. I should have known from how upset he was that day in the Wagering Bar.

"So….that's it?" Peeta interjects, looking at Haymitch. It's the first time he has spoken up; I had almost forgotten that he was there. "It's over? You're not even going to try anymore?"

Haymitch shrugs once more. "I don't know who to reach out to, who I can trust," he says, despondent.

Peeta grabs Haymitch by the shoulders and gives him another little shake. "This isn't the Haymitch that mentored three District 12 tributes to victory in the last two years," he says, angry. "You're smarter than that. You can figure it out."

Haymitch eventually concedes, giving us a single nod and the hint of a smile. "Give me a couple of weeks. I'll see what I can do."

We all accept this, nodding our heads in agreement. After a moment, Haymitch snorts. "I still don't see why you're after me to do this. I'm just creating more problems for you. If there's a rebellion you're just going to have to convince Snow you're squashing it anyway. What are you going to do to placate him on the tour?"

Peeta and I exchange nervous glances before both shrugging. "We have no idea," Peeta says sheepishly at the same time I add, "Snow wants me to be pregnant."

"Well, well, well," Haymitch arches his eyebrow so high I wonder if it will stay on his forehead, "sounds like we _all_ have work to do."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

We agree to give Haymitch the couple of weeks he says he needs to find out all of the information that he can. In the meantime, Peeta and I split up for the evening so that he can visit his parents and Paca, and I can spend time with Prim and my mother. But at the end of the evening, I leave my mother's house for Peeta's, without asking permission, without sneaking. It feels bizarre. Though based on the twinkle in her eyes and her constant smile, I again get the impression that she's just happy and grateful that both of her daughters are alive and well and living right beside her.

When I get home (which still feels a little strange to say as I'm used to thinking of this as Peeta's place), Peeta is already there, and I snuggle up next to him in bed. Though I love the feel of him beside me, and we hold each other close all night, things don't feel romantic right now- just safe and comfortable.

The days drag on, and we fall into somewhat of a routine. Though we agree not to pressure Haymitch for a little while, we still end up talking about the Capitol almost every day anyway- because what else are we going to do? It's not as if any of us has to go to work. I still hunt in the mornings, as often as I can for the Hawthorne family, but the electricity is on-again off-again, so there are stretches of several days at a time that I am unable to get into the woods at all. I don't spend a second of my free time designing clothes, or whatever else the Capitol thinks I should be doing as a Victor. Peeta bakes us breakfast and paints; Prim helps my mom with her healing and obtaining apothecary supplies- but that is really supposed to occupy us all day and night? Hardly.

Hazelle had basically ransacked Haymitch's place, leaving no stone unturned, but was unable to come up with anything that would imply that the Capitol was spying on us there. So while we still try to take care not to speak so bluntly concerning the rebellion, we designate Haymitch's dining room our official meeting locale, and sit around (or in Haymitch's case, pass out on) the table for at least a couple of hours in the afternoons. We don't ask Haymitch about who he'd spoken to, or even wake him up when he's unconscious- we just use the time to talk- about the Quell, about the Games two years ago, about the failed rebellion, about the future. We talk about things like how on Earth the four of us are going to be able to mentor someone else for this year's Games- that kind of stuff. It was almost like a giant therapy session- but with the added bonus of planning and strategizing a bit, too, like we did in all those months before the Quell last year.

Then it is dinner at my mother's house, sometimes with Peeta, but always with Prim. Prim and I spend our evenings being as close as possible to our mom. After what she had been through, I never wanted her to have to worry like that again. Hopefully she won't; Prim and I, at least in theory, are out of the annual reaping for good. We watch TV and talk while my mother sorts through various healing supplies, or helps her patients late into the night. And I can tell the evenings that Prim is feeling a little better because she asks to braid my hair or polish my nails, anything girly that acutely reminds me of how prissy she used to be. When I first saw her after she won the Quell, I wasn't sure if she would ever recover. But slowly, as we spend more uneventful evenings together, I feel like I am starting to get my sister back.

And then I come home to Peeta, and we sleep together, but we don't _sleep together_. At first, not making love with him seems fairly normal- we had just gotten back from our honeymoon after all, I certainly couldn't expect it to continue like that forever, and we were settling into post-Games life back in District 12. But after weeks had passed with nothing more than soft kisses on the cheek and cuddling- I realize something. Feeling pressure to have sex does not equate to wanting to have sex. In fact, the anxiety and nervousness at the thought of getting pregnant, or at _not_ getting pregnant (at this point, which scenario was even better? I wasn't sure), which inescapably pops into my head the moment that Peeta's skin touches mine, instantly curbs any sexual appetite I possess whatsoever. Thank you, President Snow, for ruining one of the most amazing experiences of my life. I am grateful that Peeta's intuition is such that I know he understands without us ever having to discuss it; when I inevitably shy away from his advances he simply holds me in his arms.

Almost three weeks had gone by between the day that Haymitch said he needed a couple of weeks and the day that he finally says anything. We are gathered around the table at his place, and Haymitch is unconscious as usual. Frustrated by the lack of actual progress that we've made, Prim, Peeta, and I are sitting in silence, trying to think of something to discuss together, each of us preoccupied with our own concerns. Then, by some miracle, or at least by some strange energy present in the room, we all voice our thoughts aloud simultaneously.

Prim asks what in the world we're all going to say on that Victory Tour stop in District 11. I wonder how I am supposed to concentrate on anything when I am expected to be pregnant in six months. Peeta questions how we can all figure anything out when we don't even know what's going on with the rebellion.

Haymitch suddenly responds, jerks his head up, sits up straight in his chair. After seemingly taking a few seconds to process what the three of us just said, he finally says something. "That's it," he whispers.

We all look at him as though he's crazy. "What's it?" Once again, the three of us speak as though we are a single entity.

Haymitch's eyes gleam brighter than I've seen them in months; he takes a quick swig of his liquor but then looks at each of us in turn, hands literally shaking with excitement. He lowers his voice and continues.

"I've been reaching out to other Victors, other survivors," he murmurs. Even with the all-clear from Hazelle, Haymitch's voice isn't likely to be picked up by much- the paranoia is still there for all of us. He lowers his tone even more. "It was tough at first, to find people to talk to me, and it took a little while, but things are better than I initially thought. Districts 3, 4, and 8 attacked in the arena-break rather rashly- without any support from the other Districts- 7 and 11 especially. Because Districts 7 and 11 had already relinquished control of their squares to Peacekeepers, a lot of Peacekeepers were evacuated from those districts to fight in the arena-break. 7 and 11 may have surrendered, but now they've been left with minimal policing. And because the Peacekeeper force was so large at the arena-break, it didn't take long before those districts realized that they had no shot without more help. A majority of the rebel armies in those districts had retreated from the arena-break before there was any violence."

You could hear a pin drop in the room. Peeta, Prim and I are looking at Haymitch in earnest. But a horrifying thought occurs to me that I can't help but ask him. "So they just left the rest of the rebels to die?" I squeak out, horrified.

Haymitch shakes his head. "Not exactly, Katniss. The majority of the rebel armies voted to withdraw the plan when they heard that the squares of Districts 7 and 11 had been compromised; the rebel armies that wouldn't go along with it are mostly the ones that had living tributes in the arena. Notice how the Capitol aired a ton of footage of the tributes' families?"

I nod. I remember watching the footage from the bar as though it were an hour ago. Though beyond that, I'm not exactly sure what Haymitch is getting at.

Peeta wastes no time voicing that thought. "And? What does this all have to do with what we do next?"

"The point," Haymitch says, "is that the rebel army didn't take as much of a hit as the Capitol wanted to make us think- people were just scared to reach out. I had to talk to more people, make some new connections. But the rebels that I've spoken to, at least, don't want to retreat forever. They just want to make sure we have enough forces to actually win this time. And they want the fight to happen all at once, so that the Capitol is overwhelmed. It just occurred to me how we can do that."

"How?" Prim, Peeta, and I all ask at once. Clearly, Haymitch has us all on the same wavelength today.

"On the Victory Tour stop in District 11," he says. "Katniss, when Snow hands the microphone to you, you're not going to tell him that you're pregnant, whether you are or not. You're going to declare war."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Haymitch continues to look at us as though he is expecting some grand response, some sort of over-the-top acknowledgement of his epiphany. But all three of us just stare at Haymitch as though he has three heads. Though his idea sounds fantastic in theory, it doesn't take long before I can point out a number of major flaws in his plan. Some so seemingly obvious I'm very surprised he didn't think of them himself. It must be some combination of liquor and what I'm guessing is lack of sleep.

"Haymitch, the Capitol is going to have a tape delay- we don't even know how long it will be," I eventually say. I start by stating the obvious. "There's absolutely no chance I could just proclaim, 'Hey, let's start a war!' and have everyone in Panem listen to me. The Capitol will edit out what they don't want to hear - just like last year. They'll cut the power to the microphone, too, remember? I'll die for sure, and no one will get the message anyway." I think back to the Victory Tour at District 11 last year and shudder. The older gentleman getting shot in the head in the middle of the square still plagues my worst nightmares.

Haymitch shrugs. "It doesn't have to be quite that obvious. How about holding up those three fingers? Or whistling that mockingjay tune of Rue's?"

I shake my head. "No good. They might only be symbols, but they're obvious symbols of the rebellion that the Capitol knows about." Again, the older gentleman. All he did was whistle. I cringe. And I still wonder why Haymitch hadn't thought through these contingencies. Though I suppose the idea had only just occurred to him. Defeated, he sits back in his chair. We return to sitting in silence.

"Wait, what if we use some kind of code word?" Prim interjects softly after a minute. The three of us turn to look at her in surprise. She shrugs. "We are going to have to spread the word around anyway, so that the rebels can all have their weapons with them and be ready for a fight. If there's a word you have to say, and people know what to listen for, and you say it, than people will know to attack. And once the attack starts, the Capitol will be really distracted- if it happens fast enough and you still have the microphone then you could probably say whatever you want. Maybe you could even tell the people that haven't heard anything that there's a rebellion. But if something happens before the Victory Tour stop, if for some reason we aren't ready, if we don't have enough forces, whatever- all you have to do- is not say it."

We are all impressed. It is still a pretty outrageous plan- but this makes it so much less risky. "That's a great idea, little Duck," I say. Peeta and Haymitch nod their head vigorously. "But what should we use as the word?"

Prim blanches. "Well….you might not like this, Katniss, but President Snow is hoping and expecting you to be pregnant, right? You might not even get the chance to say anything if you're not. So he's going to hand the microphone over to you expecting some sort of announcement about your pregnancy. Like if you know what the sex of the baby is. That would be the perfect way to incorporate a code word. Like 'boy' if we want everyone to fight now. 'Girl' if we want everyone to wait. What do you think?"

Peeta and Haymitch continue their encouraging nods, clearly impressed by my sister's ingenuity. But I do nothing but sigh, aghast.

"Seriously? Now whether the nation of Panem goes to war all rests on me being pregnant? Don't I have enough pressure about that already?" My voice escapes as a girlish whine. But deep down, I know that Prim's idea is pretty brilliant, assuming that the chips fall our way. Though a couple of details still bother me. "We just have to know exactly how long the delay is until the ceremony is broadcast- I have no idea how long it was last year," I add. "And the people of District 11 can't act until _after_ the broadcast is aired to the rest of Panem. We can't chance a District 11 uprising to cause the broadcast to be cancelled. Maybe the people of District 11 shouldn't even know about it. And everyone has to get the code word right. And somehow I'm going to have to be pregnant by then. I'm going to have to be showing. There's no way he'll be convinced that we know the sex of the baby otherwise…." My mind is going a mile a minute. But even though I keep thinking of the little things that could make this entire thing go to pot, inside I know that this is our plan.

"Katniss," Peeta says softly as he sits a comforting hand on my shoulder, "Don't worry about that part right now. You don't have to be showing. You can just stuff something up your shirt. You don't even have to be pregnant! We can lie about it. I can lie about it. Please, it will be okay," his voice is pleading. And so reassuring. I try to let down my guard a bit, relax.

"Are we going to have enough time to prepare?" I ask Haymitch. "It's only about five months away. Is that enough time for everyone to learn the plan, the code word, to coordinate everything? And are we going to be able to talk to other districts? Districts 3, 4, 7, 8, and 11 are still less than half. We'll never win that way. What about the other ones? 9 and 10 maybe? And what about…..us? District 12?"

Haymitch nods but doesn't make eye contact with me. He busily shifts in his seat. "I've reached out to people in all of the districts except 1 and 2. People in Districts 5 and 9 were hesitant to talk. Districts 6 and 10 were more open. While there are certainly rebel armies there, the past Victors that I spoke with were unsure of whether they are substantial enough in number to impact the Capitol presence. They need some time-a couple of months perhaps- to reach out and try to recruit more people. But they are going to get back to me."

He was obviously keeping something from me. "And District 12?" I ask pointedly.

Haymitch finally meets my eyes. "Well, we've had a volunteer who has graciously offered to coordinate almost everything for us, as long as you are the go-between," he says, a little nervously. Then he relaxes, and half his mouth slowly rises in a devilish grin. He winks. "I'll give you three guesses who it is."

I didn't need three guesses. Anything more than one would be insulting. Gale.

* * *

Haymitch informs me that Gale would like to meet me at the private 'house' in the woods near the lake early in the morning a few days later, a Sunday. Haymitch had spoken to Hazelle who had passed along the message to her son, who had then arranged the meeting time and location. Satisfied that he had revealed enough, Haymitch breaks up our little brainstorming session shortly after that.

Though I feel as though Gale and I had reached some sort of understanding at my wedding with Peeta, I am jittery the next few nights- even Peeta's arms don't comfort me. I will be meeting Gale at the spot, after all, where the last time we were there Gale told me that he loved me and I said I wanted to run away with him. And it is the spot where I will now have to say to him that I'm going to try to have another man's baby and could he please by the way help us start a rebellion in our District that's likely to get him killed? He will jump at the chance regardless, he doesn't need to do it for me, but I still shake my head. It's too much.

Peeta gives me the kind of kiss when I leave that Sunday morning that tells me that he might be secure in our marriage, but he is still only human, just a guy. I kiss him back but I'm nervous and preoccupied, so my head isn't quite in it. I am relieved and disappointed at the same time when I slip across the Seam to find that the fence is not electrified and that my meeting with Gale can proceed as scheduled. I slip through the woods, trying to enjoy some solitude before what is sure to be an emotionally trying conversation. I have my bow and arrow with me, and I take down some game on the long hike to our secret meeting location- two squirrels and a rabbit, to be exact.

When I arrive at the concrete foundation, Gale is already there, coaxing a modest fire to life. My heartbeat accelerates and my mouth is suddenly parched; I realize that I am nervous. This is the first time that Gale and I have been alone together in quite a while- since before Peeta and I were married- hell, since not long after we were _engaged_. But Gale looks- the same. His dark hair and eyebrows, his grey eyes with a curious but indignant expression. When he stands up to greet me, I remember his height, his build, the stealth in the way he moves. And when he sweeps me into his arms for a big bear hug, I feel his rough but precise hands encircle me, smell the scents of burning wood and pine and soap on his olive skin, feel his lips accidentally brush my neck. For just a fraction of a second, I think back to when his lips touched me on purpose, to the kiss that we shared somewhere deep in the woods not far from here, before Gale gives me a final squeeze and lets me go.

I take a deep breath as I step back. This is going to be even harder than I thought.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

After we separate, Gale looks me up and down a moment before fixing his eyes on my face. He searches it for a couple of seconds, looking for what I'm not sure, but whatever it is, he doesn't seem to find it in my expression. His face falls slightly before making the pointed comment, "Well, you look….different."

I wonder in what way. Though it has been a really long time since Gale and I spent days alone together, I did just see him a month or so ago, after all- at the wedding. Does he mean that I look different from that night? Less glamorous than when I was all made up in my wedding gown? Though I suppose he looks different now than he did that night to me, too. On a dance floor, dressed up, at the wedding of me to another guy, Gale looked- well, awkward, to say the least. Out here, he looks comfortable, natural, in his element.

It occurs to me then that Gale may have somehow sensed that I lost my virginity, and the thought mortifies me. Flushing a deep red, I avert his eyes, staring at the floor, wishing that the ground would swallow me whole. Yet the thought wouldn't entirely surprise me- after all, there was no one that knew me better than Gale. We spent so much time in close contact- not too close contact, mind you- but close enough contact that we could usually tell that something was different with one another without ever having to speak about it aloud. So I must acknowledge the possibility that Gale has figured out the fact that I am no longer sexually pure. Though I suppose it doesn't really matter now, not with the bomb that I am about to drop on him.

"Thanks, I guess," I mutter to the ground, shrugging. Gale, wanting to look at me, reaches out with his strong arm, pulls my chin up to look into my eyes. Hand on my chin, his eyes smoldering on mine, he repeats the words that he said to me a couple of months ago, as Prim and I were getting ready to leave for the Quell. And this time, they are filled with an entirely different meaning. "It should have been us, Catnip," he says, shaking his head, voice cracking.

I am too shaken up to respond; I just swat his hand away, breaking eye contact and backing off a few feet, eyes returning to the ground for a few moments. "I don't want to talk about it. I'm here to talk about the rebellion. Haymitch said that you would be willing to try to talk to people."

Gale nods earnestly, mood shifting entirely. He takes his own bag of game and removes a rabbit, preparing to skin it. "Anything I can do to help speed this along. Why we've let the rest of District 12 drag their asses on this is beyond me," he says, expertly removing the layer of fur from the rabbit's carcass. "I'm ready to fight. So are most of the guys at the mines." Effortlessly, he finishes and tosses the meat onto the flames.

I can't help but chuckle at Gale's enthusiasm. I watch him carefully rotate the rabbit on the spit that he had fashioned. "Well, right now your job is going to have to be to spread the word out of the mines. Or get the rest of the guys to. We have another five months yet."

Gale narrows his eyes at me. "Another five months yet until what?"

"Until we act."

"Why?"

"It has to be coordinated, Gale. Haymitch has been reaching out to other districts. We have a plan. And it has to happen in all of the districts at once. So we're waiting until the Victory Tour. Snow has given us -me- some freedom to speak at District 11. When the Tour is broadcast, that's when it starts. It will be mandatory viewing for Panem. You- and everyone else- have to wait until you hear me say the word."

"What word?" This was the part of the conversation I had been dreading.

"Um," it takes me a little while before it can form in my throat, "…..boy."

Gale just looks at me with a completely puzzled expression. I can't return his stare, so I look at my feet again. I'm not sure the next words out of my mouth are even audible. "Snow will be expecting me to be pregnant. He'll want me to tell everyone the sex of the baby. Boy means fight. Girl means wait." I am shaking like a leaf. "Got it?" my voice wavers at the end. I can't look up; I can't bear to see his face.

"Katniss, no!" Gale's voice cracks again. For a moment his response is raw, exposed, unabashedly anguished. But it quickly hardens to disgust. "You don't want kids. Don't you remember? You told me so," he spits out.

I nod, unable to meet his gaze. "I know. But what choice do I have? I have to at least try. Snow all but flat-out told me that my life and the lives of the people I love depend on it."

I hear shuffling; Gale must be pacing. "I can't even look at you right now," he says disgustedly. I don't think that I imagine the hatred in his voice. "I can't believe you are just going to fuck some guy that barely knows you, and pop out a kid like you swore to me that you would never do, just to keep up with appearances, put on a show. What happened to the girl who would do almost anything to defy the Capitol? Who the hell are you anyway? Not the Katniss I know. Not the Katniss I-" his voice abruptly trails off.

His words hit me like a punch in the face. I am so shaken that it doesn't even register to me at that moment that the word he was most likely to say next was _love_. I can't take his vitriol a second longer- I have to get out of there- and I break out into a run back towards the way I came. I can hear Gale calling my name after me, but I only speed up, twigs snapping underneath my feet. It doesn't take long before Gale catches me- he is so much faster than I am- and he puts his hands on the back of my shoulders, slowing me down to a walk, then stopping altogether.

"Katniss, please- I'm sorry," he whispers, pained. "Please."

I nod in acknowledgement, but don't turn around. I just whisper angrily, "He's not some guy that barely knows me. Peeta and I are married, Gale." I want to say more, something along the lines of what we did on our honeymoon could never be described by a word so crude, but instead I just say, "Just spread the word. The Victory Tour. At the code word. Just be ready." I pull Gale's hands off my shoulders.

I don't hear him respond, but I sense that he's nodding. Though this time when I run, he doesn't follow me.

By the time I get home, my face is a mess of tears, and I run straight into Peeta's arms. Peeta doesn't ask questions, or get angry, he just holds me for a long time while I cry and let myself be completely vulnerable in his embrace. He is so sweet, so loving. I am so overwhelmed at the compassion the boy with the bread has shown me that I start to kiss him more passionately than I had in a long time. He kisses me back, and we end up stripping off our clothes. We start to make love but less than a minute goes by before I'm crying again, thinking about how Gale was exactly right- I can't have a baby, it goes against everything that I have been through and everything that I am. It was so easy to forget about what might happen before, when the world was just Peeta and I hunkered down in our honeymoon suite, but with President Snow's insinuations, and the code word that I have to say to all of Panem, and the argument I had with Gale today- the possible end result is now the only thing on my mind. At the sight of my tears, Peeta stops and just holds me close, telling me that he loves me no matter what. I am too ashamed to look at him and the guilt remains long after he falls asleep and I lay fidgety by his side. I don't know how much time passes before my mind quiets down enough for me to drift off into a restless sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

I am back at the house by the lake, waiting for Gale. This time, it's my turn to build the fire. I had just fetched a couple more logs from the stack in the corner that my father and I had collected, and am kneeling down to throw them into the blaze. I hear a slight rustle of leaves or twigs- the wind probably. I look up to see Gale standing over me. My mouth is slightly agape as I can't believe that he has managed to sneak up on me, though I suppose I shouldn't be surprised.

Not a word is spoken. I drop the logs as I stand up straight and by the time I have risen he has completely closed any distance that separates us. He takes me into his arms and kisses me, and I feel how warm his lips are against mine. He smells like oranges and campfire smoke and leather, and I inhale deeply, trying to memorize and rememorize his scent. His beautiful hands, powerful yet precise, capable of chopping wood or setting a delicate snare, hesitantly explore my body. They start on my back, pulling me closer, but then travel to the back of my head as he gently tugs on my hair with his fingers. His full lips press against mine more firmly, gently easing them apart, allowing his hot tongue to enter my mouth and intermingle with my own. My core temperature rises. So warm.

Our kissing becomes more fervent, and his hands continue their exploration downward until they are resting on my thighs just below my butt. Then, in a smooth motion, Gale effortlessly tilts my hips towards his, lifting my legs into the air and wrapping them around his waist. The kissing continues as Gale slowly drops us to his knees and then gently lays me down by the crackling fire. When he presses his long and lean torso firmly against my body I quiver, wanting more. My lustful eyes are heavy-lidded but I watch Gale as he strips off my shirt and then kneels long enough for me to remove his. His scars are still prominent, but I actually like the look of them, they make him look stronger, like a beautiful warrior. When he leans back down and presses his bare chest to mine, I whisper to him that I can't wait for him any longer; I'm dying to know what he feels like. His gray eyes sparkle with delight and he now has a lot more confidence in where he puts his hands. I cry out. I am burning up, can't take the heat, I yank at the button on my pants, and on his, so hot-

* * *

I wake up with a jolt, heart palpitating, drenched in sweat. It takes me a few seconds to orient myself. I look next to me. Peeta is sleeping peacefully on his side, arms wrapped tightly around my shoulders. Between him, our expensive down comforter and my dream- no wonder I was sweltering. Peeta's mile-long lashes are fluttering and I feel his hot breath on my neck as he deeply and rhythmically exhales. He looks nothing short of angelic. I instantly feel rotten- especially because I am still turned on from the images that were just swirling inside my head.

_But, Katniss, you haven't done anything wrong_, my inner monologue rationalizes. _You can't control what you dream about._

That might be true, but I do know that my visit with Gale yesterday affected me far more than I had anticipated. He just knew me too well- he knew exactly what buttons to push, and he wasn't afraid to push them.

I was just going to have to stay away from Gale Hawthorne.

The next day, Haymitch, Peeta, Prim and I have our usual pow-wow- but it doesn't last very long this time. We actually have a plan now, and talking about it with each other isn't going to help put it into action.

For the next five months, we are just going to talk to as many different people as we can. We even have a code question, if you will- to ask the other person what part of the Victory Tour they are looking forward to the most. It's not necessarily a strange question, because it is pro-Capitol and most people that aren't pro-Capitol want to fake it, and if someone from the Capitol overhears it won't arouse suspicion. It is only if they respond, 'District 11- I just can't wait for it to start' that it's understood that they've heard about the planned uprising. The answer makes sense how it is phrased, but no one would say District 11 otherwise- the individual district celebrations are usually the least exciting part of the tour, and no one from District 12 would ordinarily say any district other than their own. If we meet someone that doesn't know about our plan, our job is to feel them out first without giving anything away. Then report it to Haymitch. Who digs up what he can, determines if it is safe to talk to them. Then approach them again. See if anything has changed. And then, if they're worthy, let them in.

Gale is working the same angle from the mines with some of his buddies- but the specifics are relayed from him to Hazelle to Haymitch and me- since I refuse to meet with Gale alone again. He thinks it's because of what he said that offended me. While that may be partially true, it isn't entirely. But I am perfectly content to let him think that.

So every day we split up, get out and try to see people, talk to them. Thankfully, as the rebellion heated up in some of the other districts, our lack of action resulted in fewer Peacekeepers policing District 12. Fine by us. Easier to communicate. We start with our friends, and then slowly try to expand our circle.

* * *

One morning a couple of weeks later, things seem to be going just fine when there is an unexpected ring of the doorbell. Peeta and I are drinking hot chocolate and eating some delicious blueberry muffins that he had just made; I jump up about two feet in my chair and Peeta has to reach his arms out to steady me. Heart beating in my chest, I run to the door, Peeta right on my tail.

When we open it, we find…..Cinna.

"Cinna?" I ask him incredulously.

"Sssshhhhh, just let me in," Cinna shushes me, but gives me a fierce hug regardless. "It's good to see you, girl on fire," he says quietly, already inside. He smiles at us, and his eyes sparkle- and it isn't even from the extra-thick gold eyeliner that he's wearing today. He drops his voice even further. "I'm here on official business. Haymitch sent for me. As far as anyone knows, I'm here because you've invited me. You had me come here so that you could announce to me personally that you're pregnant. And tell me that you were worried about how it would affect my designs for you for the Victory Tour."

"O-kay," I say softly, slowly. "So why are you really here?"

"Come with me," he whispers in response, ushering me up the stairs.

We don't stop until we reach Peeta's and my bedroom. Cinna reaches into his small bag (I had assumed he was here for an overnight stay), and pulls out some measuring tape. He gestures for me to strip.

"You know we've both done this before," he kids with a wink. "I just want to get some measurements."

"For Victory Tour clothes?"

"Sort of," he replies, "but not exactly. Actually-," he lowers his voice to a whisper, "Haymitch informed me that you were feeling pressure to get pregnant? But that you weren't sure that you want to?"

"I don't want to," I whisper back, shaking my head vigorously, fighting tears. "I'm only seventeen, and as long as things are like this in District 12, in Panem really, I don't want to have kids at all. I can't bring them into this." The emotion is raw, and Cinna hears it in my voice. He gives me a giant hug, which also affords him the opportunity to whisper in my ear.

"Don't worry. The measurements I'm taking are going to be for a series of prosthetics that I'm going to construct for your torso- one for each month. Katniss, after I fashion these for you to wear, no one will ever suspect that you're not pregnant."

My emotions still heightened, I smile in sheer relief. What a great idea. I hold my arms out as Cinna pores over me with his tape measure. Though he already had measurements from before, he wanted to make sure that the numbers were as up-to-date as possible. After a few minutes of looking at me, he is satisfied that he's figured out how to do what he plans on doing and gestures for me to put my clothes back on. We head back downstairs, a smile still plastered to my face- this is the least anxious I have felt in a while. I ask him to stay, but few people know of his trip here from the Capitol, so he has to get back. But before he leaves, Peeta gives him a hug as well and whispers something into Cinna's ear. They continue to have a hushed conversation for the next minute or so. I can't hear a word that they're saying.

"What was that about?" I ask immediately as the door shuts following Cinna's exit. Curiosity has taken over me.

Peeta shrugs. "Not much. I asked him to bring me a couple of things. But mostly I was just thanking him for coming." He acts casual but his expression is significantly brightened.

"Wait," I say, "It was you that told Haymitch to talk to him, wasn't it? And you convinced him to have Cinna come out here? He probably could have just used my measurements from before, right?"

"Anything I can do to bring you a little peace of mind," he replies, "and maybe get you to smile like that once in a while." He kisses my cheek and gives me a smile of his own.

Every time Peeta does something like this for me, I feel unworthy of him. And considering my dream a few weeks ago, I now feel even more guilt-ridden. But thankfully, it is balanced by the comfort that another piece of our plan- like how on Earth I might be able to convince President Snow I was with child when the last thing I wanted was to be pregnant- was starting to click into place.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Cinna returns a couple of weeks later. This time, instead of appearing at the door with a small bag containing a few items, he returns with a giant suitcase, a lunch-sized paper bag, and a number of large stuffed garment bags hanging on a collapsible rack. After greeting us and handing the paper bag over to Peeta, he accompanies me up the stairs to the bedroom where I presume I will try on some of the prosthetics that he has structured.

Once he has reached the bedroom, Cinna begins reaching into all of the garment bags, revealing flesh-colored spandex suit after flesh-colored spandex suit. He then places the suitcase on the bed and unzippers it, pulling out one prosthetic after another, each slightly bigger than the next. He busily begins attaching the rubbery material of the fake bellies to the spandex undergarments. The realism of the rubbery prostheses astound me- from afar, even if my fake belly was showing, you would never be able to tell it wasn't real. And I'm sure that Cinna has elaborate costumes in mind to cover my belly and distract the eye for those up close.

"Here," he says softly, holding out one of the medium-sized ones. "I constructed one for every month of your 'pregnancy' starting at four months. I'm assuming you plan to announce that this happened on your honeymoon. If that's the case, this six-month model is the one that you'll be wearing when you begin Prim's Victory Tour."

I slip it on. Actually, I shouldn't say that- I squeeze into it, the spandex pinches me and pushes me, makes me gasp for breath at first, but it seems necessary to maintain the right structure of the prosthesis and let it blend in with the rest of me, so I don't object. Cinna then puts me in a bright orange two-piece maternity suit. I feel awkward as anything, but a quick glance in the mirror shows that I look like a pregnant woman. Cinna has even dared to let a fraction of an inch of the fake flesh show in-between the top and pants.

"Oh, Cinna," I breathe, taking a longer look at myself. "It's perfect. Thank you."

"You're welcome," Cinna smiles. "And that's not quite all. See this?" He tugs downward at the top of my low-cut maternity pants and points to something at the bottom of my fake baby bump.

"Um, no," I reply, grinning. The bump is sticking out just a little too far and I can't see anything below it.

Cinna pulls me closer to the mirror and points so that I might see it in my reflection. When I strain my eyes I see very faintly a long, thin line traveling horizontally across the prosthesis at my lower belly. It looks a bit like a scar. I nod.

Cinna grasps my hand gently and places it right on the line. I barely have time to observe that the line is actually a cleverly placed and well-disguised break in the rubbery material before Cinna pushes my hand firmly and it eases into my fake gut.

Cinna lets my hand go as I realize that my prosthetic belly is actually somewhat of a cavity. I squish my hand up there and explore. I feel a lot more rubber, it isn't close to hollow, but there is a little bit of space. And when I push my hand in as far as it will go, my fingers close over the handle of something solid and cold and metal- a knife. My eyes widen with surprise.

"I thought," Cinna begins, but then falters. "I thought- you might need to protect yourself…..in case he finds out…" is all he gets out before he starts to choke up. He looks as though he's about to cry, but quickly gets a grip on himself. "That kind of space is in all of the ones bigger than that, too."

"Oh, Cinna," I say again, and we hug for a long time.

Unfortunately, this visit isn't doesn't last any longer than the last one, as Cinna has to get back to the Capitol. He leaves me with the prostheses but assures me that he will be designing a lot more clothes for me to wear- the current maternity suit is just a sample to see how it would fit. In the meantime, I am to begin wearing the smallest prosthetic in just a few weeks, which I should be able to fit under my regular clothes. I walk him downstairs and we hug fiercely. He gives me a kiss on the cheek and Peeta a wink before he turns and walks out the door.

When he is gone, I notice Peeta looking at me with a little glint in his eye. I realize that I am still wearing Cinna's get-up.

"What, do you like this?" I ask, hands waving, gesturing to my bright orange-ness and protruding stomach.

Peeta shrugs. "Actually, yeah, I do," he replies. He approaches me and gives me a quick kiss on the lips. His gaze drops and his hands find their way to my prosthesis. He holds them there for a moment before slowly feeling all around it, mesmerized. He flushes and averts his eyes, embarrassed, but leans in to whisper into my ear. "I don't know, I know that we're too young, and that things are too crazy right now. But someday in the future, I'd love it if you were carrying our baby for real." He looks straight at me now, and his expression is hopeful. "Maybe?"

I smile. I wasn't ready to even think about it now, but Peeta didn't ask for much. And his voice was so pleading. I couldn't dismiss it. "Maybe," I reply.

"Good," Peeta gives me a wicked grin- at least, for him. "Now, in the meantime…" he strides a few steps to retrieve the paper bag that Cinna had given him before coming back and grabbing my hand with his free one, "Look, Katniss, I know that things have been really stressful for you lately. You've had all this pressure to get pregnant, more than any almost-eighteen-year old girl should have, and I completely understand how it could have affected your desire to- um…." He pauses for a moment as he searches for an appropriate word, "be with me," he eventually stammers nervously. He's trying to act confident, but it's easy to see that he's scared as hell.

I grasp his hand reassuringly, squeeze his fingers, and nod at him. At this point, I'm just relieved that he seems to understand.

"So I, um, talked to Cinna, and asked him to get us some stuff that might help put your mind at ease- so that, um, maybe you'll want to be with me again sometime. Just- one day. Not necessarily now. Though I wouldn't complain about now at all. Just so you know." His nervousness is palpable (and adorable) as he thrusts the opened paper bag forward for me to see.

Inside is a wide assortment of prophylactics and birth control. Pills, foamy-looking things, rubbery things, bottles of liquid- things that I have never seen, or felt, or used- only heard about. My eyes widen.

"I don't know how to use any of this stuff," I whisper.

Peeta shrugs. "That's okay. Me neither." He drops the bag to the floor as he pulls me close for a hug. My bump precludes us from getting as close as we would both like as Peeta envelops me in his arms. "We can figure it out together, right?" he whispers. "I don't care if it makes things a little awkward or uncomfortable between us for a little while. I just miss being close to you. I'm willing to try whatever it takes, if you are."

I look into my husband's beautiful blue eyes. I'll admit it, even though I knew that people at the Capitol and in some other districts used birth control all of the time, it had never even occurred to me that Peeta or I might be able to obtain it. Since Snow's visit, I had no idea that I it was even plausible to separate the intensely pleasurable experience of making love to Peeta from the accompanying stress that we could conceive a baby as a result of it. Now that we have in our possession the tools to make it not only a possibility but a likelihood, I realize that birth control must be the greatest thing since sliced bread.

I give Peeta a long, lingering kiss. "I'm willing to try whatever it takes, too," I whisper to him.

Using some of that stuff was easier than we expected- it didn't make things uncomfortable between Peeta and I at all. So whatever it took that afternoon was just for me to leave my stomach prosthesis on the first time we made love, since when I went to remove it I could see just a twinge of disappointment on Peeta's face. But that was okay. It was well worth it- I had the husband from my honeymoon back.

* * *

A/N: Hmmmm, hopefully this isn't getting too much into M territory...


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: The following chapter is rated M for sexual content. I had initially changed the rating of the entire story, but in hindsight I think that's a little extreme as I don't foresee any other M rated chapters in the near future.

* * *

Chapter 8

I am lying on my side, and Peeta is making love to me from behind while we're spooning. I'm not imagining it; this time it's so hot and intense that I have to grasp the sheets in front of me with both hands and hold on for dear life. I feel his strong arms and hands grab me tighter than normal, and I hear faint whispers of my name in my ear, tickling it.

His speed and intensity increase, and within seconds I find myself on the verge of what I know will be a completely Earth-shattering, mind-blowing orgasm. Whatever he's doing differently has got me so turned on that I can't even see straight. When he reaches around to my front to stimulate me with his finger, I literally scream Peeta's name as I come harder and longer than ever.

Then- silence, everything abruptly stops. A moment later I hear a voice, raised above a whisper for the first time. "Um, Katniss-"

It isn't Peeta's voice. It's _Gale's_. I look down to see that the arm still encircling my waist has a distinctly olive tone to it. And when I swivel my head around, I see scars, full lips, gray eyes-

* * *

I sit up straight in bed with a jerk, heart pounding in my ears, breathing erratic. These dreams or nightmares or whatever you call them were starting to get ridiculous.

I walk down to the kitchen for a glass of water. As I get ready to ascend the stairs back up to the bedroom I realize that there is no way in the world that I'll be able to fall back asleep. It's just before five in the morning.

Impulsively, I decide that I'll do what I would normally do if woken up at this insanely early morning hour. I'll go hunt.

In retrospect, I should have realized that it was a mistake, even if my only intentions were to clear my head and catch some game. Within an hour, I spot Gale deep in the woods. The woods are pretty vast, but instinctively we both usually end up hunting in the same areas. When you don't have to work, the days run together- but I realize as soon as I see him that it is Sunday and that I should have known better- this would be his only day off from the mines, of course he would be here. I wasn't thinking.

Which I suppose is pretty easy to do after having the kind of dream that I just had.

I don't exactly walk up to him- I keep my distance as I watch him check some of his snares to find a couple of rabbits entrapped. But a few minutes later, I spot a squirrel and instinctively launch an arrow to spear it right in the eye. I cringe as I realize that there's no way Gale didn't see or hear that. Sure enough, I hear a whispered, "Catnip!" from nearby a few moments later. I watch Gale approach.

The last time Gale and I saw each other, he said some pretty awful stuff to me. Was he going to try to atone for it? Pretend like it never happened? I figure I will play it cool and let him decide.

But that is easier said than done. Gale is wearing only part of a shirt; the sleeves are cut off and it is unbuttoned, revealing a wide sliver of his abdomen. Seeing any part of his naked flesh only takes me back to my lustful dream. Which I absolutely cannot afford to think about in Gale's presence.

We have no idea how to greet one another. He goes in for a hug, but I am stiff and awkward. I can't bear to feel his touch with my dream so fresh in my mind, I don't want to know the effect it might have on me, so I don't respond how I normally would. He interprets my response as lingering anger, and quickly backs off to begin a slew of apologies.

"Look, Catnip, I'm so sorry about what I said the last time that I saw you," he says fervently. I realize that it has been over a month since our conversation near the lake. "Look, I was just really upset- this- having to watch everything with you and Peeta like a damn spectator- has been really hard for me. The thought of you- and him- having a baby-"

I can see that it absolutely kills him to admit it. But I've tried to reverse our situations before, pictured him marrying some other random girl that he met long after he knew me, and the emotions I felt were indescribable. I hadn't even tried to think of the baby part, I didn't want to. But I can get a sense of how he feels- though I don't know if I have the strength to comfort him, not now. I debate telling him that we've decided against the baby thing, that it will all be a ploy to appease the Capitol, but the words get stuck in my throat. Maybe it's best that he doesn't know about it anyway. The fewer people that know, the better. I nod stoically.

I think he sees my response as being cold. He steps closer and grabs my hand. I shake it off immediately, feeling too weak for the contact, retreating a few steps until my back encounters a large tree trunk. Gale steps closer, and I suddenly feel trapped, with nowhere to go.

"Katniss, please, don't shut me out. Talk to me."

Feeling claustrophobic, I quickly change my mind and say the most effective thing I can: "We're not having a baby, Gale. We're just going to fake it. It's part of the plan."

Relief- and maybe hope- washes over his face. This was not my intended effect. "You're not?" he whispers.

I shake my head. "You were right, Gale- it isn't who I am." Maybe hearing that he's right will distract him.

Nope. He nods, leaning closer. "I know. I know who you are," His face is inches from mine. He pauses, and his gray eyes- the eyes I knew so well, better than anyone's- pierce me. "Despite everything, I still love who you are."

In another time or place, this would be perfect, part of a dream. Birds are chirping, the sun is just breaking over the horizon, and the sights and smells of the forest surround us. Gale has just confessed romantic feelings for me (again), he looks better than ever, he is a part of my wildest fantasies, and we are alone, isolated in the woods, where we would both rather be than anyplace else in the world. Gale leans forward and kisses me, putting his hands on my face, and for just a moment, I let him and live in the dream, too.

But just for a moment- until the logical part of me wakes up and realizes that this is a nightmare. No matter what I may have felt for Gale, no matter what I still might feel for him, the Games and the Capitol have decided my fate- which is the boy with the bread. And I need to accept that, _he_ needs to accept that, for the good of everyone. And it's not like Peeta is runner-up material, either. _You could do a lot worse, you know._

I push Gale away. "Stop making this so hard," I say, finally finding my voice. "You're being unfair to me. My decision has been made- I'm married. It doesn't matter what I still feel for you, don't you understand? I'd be lying if I said I felt nothing- but it doesn't matter. We have bigger things to worry about right now."

Gale might not have understood a word of the first part- but at my last line he stiffens and backs off a couple more steps. "You're right," he eventually says, emotion draining from his voice. "I'm sorry." He now sounds completely devoid of feeling.

His apathy stings, but it's what I need right now. "Good," is all I say, "Because I don't have the time or energy to stress out about you right now on top of everything else." This is a direct order to my subconscious. I hope it listens.

Gale nods brusquely. Then he turns and starts to walk away. I watch him go- and wish a million times that he wouldn't have to walk out of my life this way, that he wouldn't have to walk away from me at all- but that's the way it is.

After a few steps, he turns around. "Katniss-" he begins. I raise my eyebrow in response, bracing myself for the worst. "Everyone that I've talked to is really excited about the plan," he says. "You guys were right to decide to wait. I think this can actually work."

"I hope so," I reply, relieved and suddenly overwhelmingly tired. This has been as emotionally draining an experience as any.

"And- I'm still all in, willing to do whatever you guys need," he adds.

I smile and nod at him. Then he turns back around and I watch him walk away, this time disappearing into the trees.

I yawn, realizing that I could go back to bed after all. I retreat back under the fence, through the Seam, back to Victor's Village. Once home, I trudge up the stairs, exhausted and spent. I collapse next to Peeta and instantly fall back to sleep. And this time, there are no dreams.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Time passes.

I still hunt in the mornings- just not on Sundays. I begin waking up earlier and earlier, consumed with fear about the upcoming rebellion, and hunting forces me to think in the moment rather than lie awake and worry about everything else. The mines have been busier, so Gale has been working impossibly long hours- I am not concerned that I will see him. But the game helps Hazelle and their family, and it's what I can and want to do- so I go.

As more and more people catch wind of the planned uprising, ultimately there is less and less work for us to do. Collectively, we would rather people hear about our plan from their close friends than from someone they have never met. So once we finished scouring the district for people that we had any connection to, we gave some leeway to the people that we already told to spread the word, after clearly explaining our methods of reaching out to them. And when we ask the code question now there is hardly anyone that doesn't respond the way that we hope they will. But the four District 12 victors still meet in the afternoons and talk. Sometimes it's about strategy, sometimes the Games, other times about nothing important at all.

I still spend the evenings with my mother and Prim (and Peeta when he feels like being around all of the estrogen, which is roughly half of the time). Watching TV. Talking. Helping them with the apothecary. Spending time together as a family. After the uprising, who knows if we will ever get to do it again.

And then it is home to Peeta. I still haven't told him about the incident with Gale and wonder if it's even worth bringing up. As the weeks pass, I think back to that day; think about whether I was really wrong, what I could have done differently. I chose to go hunting, but I had never expected to see him (even if it was my own lack of foresight to not realize that it was a Sunday). Gale backed me up into a tree and kissed me without asking him, or even encouraging him. I didn't kiss him back. I guess what it really boils down to is the fact that I waited perhaps a fraction of a second too long before pushing him away. And in that fraction of a second I enjoyed the fact that Gale was kissing me. But does that really make me a bad person, a bad wife?

Peeta has always known that I love Gale, or at least he should. Before he and I were even in the Games he heard that Gale and I had a greater-than-platonic relationship. Gale was the one who restrained Prim when I took my place as the District 12 tribute; he saw me before we left. He knew that Gale kissed me after the Games and that we still hunted together every Sunday for a while. And if nothing else cemented it, my reaction to Gale's whipping should have. So would Peeta even be surprised if I told him what happened? Probably not- but he would be hurt, and he would be angry at Gale for crossing the line. I don't blame him for that, but that's not where either one of us needs to focus our energies.

Besides, thanks to our newly acquired birth control, Peeta and I have been closer in all other ways than ever. This- peace, this freedom for us to do what we want with each other in the dead of night, without fear of repercussion- it feels so fleeting, so temporary. Once the rebellion starts, I have a feeling that Peeta and I will not get to spend our nights so freely- we will be constantly under attack, or at least the threat of it. It seems silly to spend our last days before a giant war is likely to break out fighting over something that lasted all of half a second. I vacillate back and forth, but ultimately decide to let the incident with Gale slide.

I get more 'pregnant'. I wear the first prosthesis under my regular clothes, and no one notices. I wear the second one under my regular clothes, and I can barely fasten them. By the time that I get to the third prosthesis, I can't fasten my regular clothes at all, I need some maternity ones. Though I could afford to go out and buy all new stuff, I decide instead to borrow a couple of outfits from my mother that she wore when she was pregnant with us. I also realize that I'll be wearing this same prosthesis for the Victory Tour, which means that it's less than a month away.

People don't even notice the first prosthesis. When I'm wearing the second one, I get a lot of funny looks, but no one dares voice their thoughts. By the time I'm in the third one, however, it is plainly obvious to everyone that I am expecting (or so they think….). I get winks from grandmothers, double-takes from anyone who might think that I'm too young to be pregnant, knowing looks. But none of that really matters. I don't need to convince anyone other than President Snow. And, well, I guess the entirety of Panem when I'm broadcast during the Victory Tour.

One evening our mother is helping to heal a particularly badly injured coal miner with second- and third-degree burns on his chest from a mine explosion. I briefly wonder if he is one of Gale's friends, if he knows about the rebellion- but he's writhing in agony, and I don't ask him. My mother has carefully bandaged and treated him already; we're simply waiting for the medication to kick in. For the sake of privacy, my mother shoos both Prim and I outside the door of the room so that we're not all witnessing his pain. Taking advantage of our time together without our mother around, Prim gestures for me to come closer.

"Psssst," she whispers softly. In response, I simply raise an eyebrow.

"I've been thinking a lot about the speech that I'm supposed to give," she says, in a voice so low I can barely hear her. I wonder if her discretion is so that potential recording devices couldn't pick up what she was saying, or our mother.

"What about it?" I whisper. Though I have never seen a Victory Tour where both the Victor and past Victors speak, this year, in honor of the Quell and in celebration of my supposed pregnancy, there is to be an exception. We don't know who is speaking first- her or me- but we've planned what we're saying regardless, and the order doesn't really matter.

"I just….I don't know, I guess that I'm scared. What if someone from the Capitol is able to read into it and figure out what we're doing?" Haymitch, Peeta, Prim and I had painstakingly worked out everything that Prim was going to say. We wanted it to be meaningful to those that were preparing to sacrifice their lives for the rebellion, but in no way arouse suspicion for anyone that didn't know our plan. It has to be listened to and rebroadcast minutes or even hours later- and we can't afford to have anyone listening realize that Prim is talking about the rebellion and not her experiences in the Quell. So double entendres it is.

"Don't worry, little Duck," I say soothingly. "We've all been over that speech with a fine-tooth comb. If there was something really suspicious about it I'm sure that one of us would have noticed by now." I think to the carefully scripted words. _Thank you, citizens of Panem. My name is Primrose Everdeen, and I am the winner of the Third Quarter Quell. A lot of people have asked me what I'm looking forward to most on this Victory Tour. I would have to say it is this very moment, because all this time I couldn't wait for it to start. _Acknowledging the code words. _Now that it's finally here, I would like to say that_ _I am so flattered and grateful that you have all chosen to listen to me, to be your voice. Thank you for the way that you have treated me as a Victor. Maybe you watched the Quell and thought that I was brave, but I can assure you that I was just as scared as any one of you would be if faced with a similar danger…._

I think about the rest of what Prim says, and although I find her words inspiring, I do not find them suspicious- they are too relevant to what she experienced less than six months ago. I tell her so.

She shrugs. "Okay, I guess. I'm just nervous. I just have this feeling that we're going to be found out, that this isn't going to work."

I shrug. "Maybe," I whisper. "But wouldn't they have found out already? This has been going on for months now. And we only have a few weeks to go."

Prim shrugs again. "I don't know, like I said, it's just a feeling," she says softly. "I hope I'm wrong." She looks at me, and behind her eyes I see some of the new Prim, the hardened, suspicious one from the Quell. What I wouldn't give to be able to take those feelings away completely and give her the naïve and innocent ones back.

Later that night, as I lie in bed next to Peeta who is softly stroking my hair, I think about my sister's words. Being found out. This is probably the type of thing I would normally be really worried about. But for some reason, I'm not. Things are going perfectly to plan.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

I spoke too soon. I should have known.

In a cruel coincidence, I am woken the very next morning by an anxious Peeta, who is grasping my arms and shaking me slightly as he frantically whispers my name. "Katniss! Katniss!" he exclaims, in a voice that's still quiet, though it's as loud as he dares. "President Snow is at the door."

I don't know how I slept through the ring of the doorbell, but I am sure awake now. I sit up straight in bed, heart suddenly racing. I was under the distinct impression that Snow was not planning to see us until the Victory Tour began. Which means that for him to come and pay us a visit today, something has to be wrong. The thought hits me with a sharp, clear certainty. _He knows. _Or at least he suspects. Perhaps Peeta and I, during the course of his visit, can convince him differently.

I hurriedly whisper to Peeta to give me a second and gesture for him to go downstairs to answer the door while I get ready. Thankfully, I'm already wearing my prosthesis- I had gotten into the habit of wearing it pretty much all the time, inside our own house, sleeping in it even- and I had put it on after Peeta and I made love last night. Nevertheless, I rush to the closet, where the prostheses that I've outgrown, as well as the ones I've yet to wear, hang neatly organized by size. With one giant sweep I pull them from their hangers and gather them all in my arms, running to the bed and stuffing them underneath, obscuring them with the elaborate dust ruffle (a wedding gift from Effie, along with our comforter). Now what else should I hide? Oh yeah, the birth control- which would clearly be in opposition to Snow's innuendos after our honeymoon. Several items currently litter our nightstand, as my mother and Prim rarely make appearances at Peeta's and my place, and on the off chance they do it's easy to shut the bedroom door. I quickly gather what remains and stuff it back in the unassuming brown bag in which it had arrived, put it with the rest of the paraphernalia under the bed.

I have no idea what the chances are that President Snow will actually request to see our room. Still, the cleanup took approximately fifteen seconds and gave me infinitely greater peace of mind. Well worth it.

I rack my brain to think of anything that I might have missed but am unable to come up with much in the moment. I walk down the stairs with a bit of a waddle, playing it up slightly, to find Peeta and President Snow speaking quietly, Snow still at the doorframe. Peeta was obviously nervous to let Snow in further without my approval. Though I had closed the bedroom door behind me, I now don't feel as though we have anything to hide in there. I step towards Snow. "Sorry it took me a minute," I say, a little hoarsely. "I tend to sleep a little more these days". I give him a half-smile and ask him pointedly what we can do for him.

"Katniss," he says. He takes notice of the fact that I am showing, eyes me up and down, raises his eyebrow. "I hope that you are feeling well. May I extend my sincerest congratulations," he says as he reaches his hand out to shake mine. His words sound happy, but the way that his tone involuntarily goes up at the end is telling, for there is a clear undertone of uncertainty, suspiciousness. The look in his eyes is also questioning.

My worst fears are confirmed- he wants to think that I'm pregnant; it will help the image of the Capitol tremendously. But he's not sure what to believe- I easy could have just stuffed something up my pajama top in the last few moments while he was waiting for me. I am going to have to do my best to convince him.

So this is my moment- the moment to act my ass off and show Snow that I am elated to be carrying Peeta's child, even if what's under my pajama top is nothing but Cinna's carefully crafted rubber. I know my words alone will not sway him- it has to come from within me- so I force myself to think back to the happiest moments of my life with Peeta- our honeymoon. Without even really trying to, I feel my face brighten. I think of the fact that what we did that week could have easily resulted in this situation, for real. A blush overtakes my cheeks- and hopefully my whole face, my expression. I also am sure to extend my hand toward his a little too far, so that my pajama top rises up just a bit and Snow can catch a quick glimpse of my flesh-colored belly. I don't let it linger that far out; Snow is close by and though the prosthesis is convincing, I'm not sure how well it can hold up under Snow's scrutiny for too long. But it is a long enough flash of skin to hopefully communicate to Snow that I didn't simply stuff a small pillow up my shirt. "Thank you," is all I say.

Snow's expression as he looks at my face, shakes my hand, and catches a glimpse of my stomach out of the corner of his eye is one of complete surprise- he is buying into it, which only increases my elation. Yes! I beam even brighter. Hopefully he misinterprets my reaction to his reaction as further happiness for carrying Peeta's baby. He seems to, eyes wide with shock, and retracts his hand after a moment.

"I just wanted to come out and wish you two the best," he says calculatedly. "I had heard a few rumors that you were expecting, Katniss, and I wanted to see you for myself." He shifts on his feet, looking slightly uncomfortable and still more than a little surprised. But he makes no move to leave. "And I wanted to check that everyone knows what they plan to say for the upcoming Victory Tour," he continues. "How is Prim?" he asks, fishing. "And Haymitch?"

"Good, I think," a little wary, answering on both of their behalves.

Peeta, sensing my discomfort at Snow's continued presence, offers to take him around to speak to anyone that he wishes before he goes. Peeta emphasizes the word _goes_, not-so-subtly informing Snow that we no longer want him here, especially since he already saw what he came here to see.

Snow obliges and leans forward to briefly kiss me on the cheek; I try not to shudder as his distinctive rose/blood smell overwhelms me. "I hope you are all well-prepared," he says to me with his puffy lips, calm as ever but still with an underlying threat in his tone. But then he brightens a bit and whispers, "Congratulations again."

_Oh, Snow. If only you knew what we were preparing for_, I think to myself. I can't help but smile a little as I nod at him. His brief visit with us is going as well as we could have expected- seeing me seemed to reaffirm to him rather than dispel any rumors he heard that I was pregnant. As soon as the two of them exit the front door, I collapse on the chair at the kitchen table. I have been up for less than fifteen minutes, and I am already exhausted. Peeta returns several minutes later alone, and gives me the thumbs-up sign.

I grin. "It went okay with the others?" I ask him wearily.

Peeta nods at me. "Yeah, I think so, anyway. He saw everyone. And now he's gone." He stands behind the chair where I am sitting and starts to massage my shoulders. "You did a great job today- you seemed very maternal. I would have believed you. Especially the look on your face- that lovey-dovey one."

"I was just thinking about you," I reply, putting my hand on my shoulder, on his, and gripping his fingers. We smile at each other.


	11. Chapter 11

A/N:Sorry for the delay! Getting busy and this chapter was difficult for me to write for some reason. The next few chapters will probably be a little while, too :( Alas, writing fanfiction does not pay the bills.

Chapter 11

There are no more disturbances from President Snow in the next couple of weeks. Thank goodness. His last visit was unnerving enough, and we already have plenty to worry about.

As the Victory Tour approaches, we get more and more excited, anxious, terrified. Our emotions just get bigger, become amplified exponentially in every direction as the day draws nearer. This is it. There is going to be a rebellion; we are going to war. We're not going to sit idly by and wave to the citizens of Panem as though we are some kind of royalty just because we happened to survive the Hunger Games. We are going to use our influence to do something important during the Victory Tour, to wreak as much havoc as possible on the Capitol- and this time on purpose. I am hopeful at how much we can accomplish when we put our minds together and execute a well-thought-out plan, given how much we were able to rile up the citizens of the Districts last year without even really trying. I'm terrified that I'll lose my life, and more importantly that I'll lose the life of someone I love, like Prim or Peeta or my mother or Gale. But ultimately- it's worth it. I bristle as I once again remember the old man from the town square in District 11. Peeta and I might not have been powerful enough to have done anything at the time, but I make a promise to myself that we will this year, that his death won't be in vain.

Yet in these few weeks we still keep the same routine- mostly. I wake up and hunt, when the fence is not electrified. Prim helps my mom with her healing. Peeta bakes. Haymitch drinks.

The hushed late-afternoon conversations in Haymitch's dining room still take place, but they get more intense. Haymitch has a lot to say now; he's been communicating with the other districts more in the last several weeks.

We discuss the plan. Haymitch has spoken to rebels from the other districts, all of whom agree it is in everyone's best interest to coordinate the rebellion based on my code word. Everyone will attack at once when they hear it since they will all be gathered to watch the mandatory viewings of the Victory Tour in District 11. Unlike in prior rebellions where the Capitol would simply shuttle Peacekeepers in from other districts, the hope is that this time there will be so many districts being affected simultaneously that the Capitol will be hard-pressed to produce a coordinated counterattack. According to Haymitch, Districts 3, 4, 6, 7, 8, 10, and 12 are all in, good to go at the sound of "boy".

District 11 is ready, too- however, their orders are to attack roughly 1 hour after their Victory Tour footage broadcasts to the rest of Panem. Even with a tape delay, districts rarely watch the Victory Tour TV coverage of their own district, so this presents somewhat of a conundrum. People will have been sent home from the town square and some may not have access to TVs. They (as well as the rest of us) still are not entirely sure how long the delay is- or whether it varies. So the result is that any rebel attack is likely to be much less synchronized, arising from small groups starting to scatter throughout the district rather than a mob in a centralized location- but it was decided by Haymitch and the other rebel army leaders that this was a sacrifice that they were going to have to make. The Peacekeeper force will initially be strong in District 11 because of the Victory Tour, but if the Capitol reacts quickly to the other attacks, than within the hour time window the Peacekeeper presence will dwindle, rendering them much more vulnerable to even spread out attacks by the rebels. Waiting is a risk, but even a botched attack by District 11 after the broadcast is more favorable than a successful attack before it. We simply can't afford for my code word to be edited out from the TV and being heard by the rest of Panem.

Districts 5 and 9 still haven't responded. Haymitch refuses to dwell on it.

We also discuss contingencies. Where will we be when the Tour stop is broadcast? We can only guess inside or outside of the Justice Building. If the delay is only a few minutes, we could easily still be finishing up with the ceremony. If it's a little longer, we'll most likely be eating dinner on the first floor. If the tour isn't broadcast until later in the evening, we'll probably be in the upstairs room that had been set up for us last year, the one with pictures of fruits, flowers, and fat children adorning the walls. Thankfully, all three of these scenarios allow us to plan similarly.

We will in all likelihood be separated; where will we reunite? That is an easy one. The dome of the Justice Building- where Haymitch led Peeta and I through what seemed like an endless maze of hallways and staircases last year. I am nervous that I won't be able to find it, since Peeta and I have only been in that room once. But it was during a pretty emotional time, and Haymitch assures me that my emotion will guide me, that we'll remember how to get there when the time comes.

Assuming that the train is commandeered for Capitol use, how will we get back to District 12? This question is a bit trickier- it's not a simple solution. But thankfully Haymitch has been in contact with some of the rebels in District 11 that can obtain a work tractor that can be used to take us back to our own district. This is the contingency that I'm most afraid of; the journey will be a couple of days at least, and will require us to cover a tremendous amount of land in the midst of a Panem-wide uprising. However, it is silly for us to assume that we'll simply be able to catch a ride back to District 12 with someone from the Capitol once an uprising breaks out. It is necessary to have a backup plan- and this is the best one that anyone can come up with. Several others in District 12 offered to make the long journey to fetch us, but in no way did we want our way home to jeopardize the rebel attack in our home district. Which will be very strong, according to Gale, who comes by Haymitch's house the afternoon before we are scheduled to leave.

Gale has completely honorable intentions on his visit- he doesn't ask to speak with me alone, he just wants to inform us all of further progress and how he keeps hearing over and over from people that they can't wait. He updates us on the gradual accumulation of weapons- from the mines, extras covertly stolen from Peacekeepers when they weren't looking, some homemade. He does sneak me a look, a look that begs my forgiveness, but there is nothing to forgive, things are just all business now. My expression doesn't change when he looks at me, and he seems to get the message. But he does give me a hug and a kiss on the cheek as he leaves and tells me to be careful on the Victory Tour, that he doesn't want to think about life without me. I agree. As awkward as things have been between us lately, he's still one of my best friends.

And after the afternoons where we discuss everything, there're the evenings with my mom and Prim- the people that, besides Peeta, I try to spend as many waking moments with as possible before the rebellion. Our evenings are spent much like they were before the Quell; we knew that one of us was going away and unlikely to return. This time, the fear isn't that we'll lose our lives in the Games, there's an entirely different purpose at stake. But it's the same sort of bonding; the feeling of family that we are never sure that we'll have again, so we spend the hours huddled close in each other's company, reveling in it.

"I'm still scared, Katniss," Prim whispers to me the night before we are to leave for the Tour. Only she and I are still awake. Our mother, who had begun an annual tradition of cleaning like crazy before the arrival of the people from the Capitol, had drifted off to sleep on the couch. Peacekeepers and our prep teams are scheduled to arrive by noon the next day, and my mother wanted to have everything finished so that she could focus on the two of us tomorrow before we go.

I don't ask Prim to elaborate. I know that she's scared of what she told me a few weeks ago, of things not going to plan. While I don't completely share that particular fear, I share plenty of others- like what is going to happen even if things _do_ go to plan, which I know she's scared of, too. I don't say anything; I just sit and hold her in my arms until we reluctantly agree that we both need to go home and get a good night's sleep. As we part ways, I give her a hug and tell her that I love her and that I'll see her in the morning back at our mother's. She leaves for her own bed and I go home to Peeta.

And then there are the nights with Peeta, the quiet, intimate nights I spend in bed with him, savoring our last evenings of stillness and comfort. I don't know if or when we'll ever have those two things again. Sometimes we make love, and when we do it has almost a sense of desperation to it- it's as intense as I have ever experienced. And when it's over, I cling to him, afraid of letting go, and we hold each other close in bed and whisper in each other's ears. We don't usually discuss anything of consequence. But I can tell by the way that he holds me that we're both feeling the same things, and not having to talk about it is tremendously reassuring.

The night before the Tour, even though we know we need rest, we end up making love for hours. I suppose it doesn't matter- I wouldn't have been able to sleep anyway. Spent, Peeta immediately passes out with his arms wrapped around me, but I just lie there with too many emotions and thoughts going through my head to count. After what feels like hours, I drift off into an uneasy sleep filled with nightmares. It's the first time I have dreamt since the incident with Gale.

The nightmares should have forewarned me. When we wake up the next morning, Prim is gone.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12:

At first, we don't think much of it.

Peeta and I arrive at our mother's house fairly early the next morning. We were supposed to meet there at 9 am so that we could spend plenty of time with our mother before the prep team and Peacekeepers arrived. But when Prim isn't there, we don't panic- she is usually the later sleeper, while I've always gotten up early to hunt. I simply shrug and tell Peeta and my mother that I'm going to go wake her.

But when I get to her place a few doors down, the doors are unlocked. This is my first clue that something is amiss. Prim never felt all that comfortable in her big house alone, close as it was to the rest of ours- she still slept at our mother's place a lot of the time. She would never sleep at her house by herself without locking the doors. Mother has stayed with Prim a few times but since I just came from there, I knew that couldn't have been the case last night. Prim was in there alone. Or at least she should have been.

When I yell, 'Prim!' from the foyer and don't hear a response, my heartbeat begins to accelerate. By the time I've finished checking all of the rooms in her house, calling out her name with no reply, I am in full-fledged panic mode. I swallow thickly to wet my dry mouth, wipe my sweaty palms on my pants, trying to somehow ignore my body's adrenaline-fueled responses. I also attempt to squash all of the worst-case scenarios rapidly invading my mind. I try to tell myself instead that Prim just took a walk to the square, or perhaps went to grab breakfast at the bakery- even though Peeta was her neighbor now she still liked to make her way to his parents' shop once in a while to look at the wide variety of fancy cakes, which Peeta prepared in our place in Victor's Village only on occasion. She could have just gone for a walk, saying goodbye to District 12 for the next few weeks as she prepared to leave for the Victory Tour. But it's all in vain. No matter how hard I try to attribute Prim's absence to ordinary circumstance, the feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach tells me a much different story. The Capitol has her. I just know it.

When I return to my mother's house, I am shaking like a leaf and my eyes are glassy, with tears threatening to escape. Peeta instantly tries to calm me down, bringing me a chair, gently massaging my shoulders as I tell him in a wavery voice that I can't find her. But by this point, my mother has begun to freak out too, and it's impossible for him to comfort both of us.

We don't even have time to discuss the implications of all of this when there is a knock at the door. We open it to find Peacekeepers with a half-asleep Haymitch. It's not even 10 a.m. Another sign that this is the work of the Capitol- the Peacekeepers are in the know, and Haymitch, who is still dressed in his sleeping clothes with a hastily knotted robe overtop, obviously is not. We are told by the Peacekeepers that there will be a slight change in procedure. Shots of us uniting at Victor's Village and departing from the train station to kick off the Victory Tour will not be used. Instead, the footage will commence at the Justice Building of District 11, just as we are introduced for our public appearance. Our prep teams, stylists, and Effie will be meeting us at the Justice Building to ready us for it. We are to leave a little early; now, in fact.

This means that I have to say an unexpectedly early and tearful goodbye to my mother, who is now sobbing hysterically, her raw emotion vulnerable and exposed. If it's better to see her like this than in the withdrawn state she was in after my father's death, it's by the narrowest of margins. At the same time, her emotions seem straightforward- heartbreak and fear. I am feeling those things too- but in a much different and more complex way, coupled with the dread and anxiety that only someone who practically has the war of an entire nation resting on her shoulders can feel. After I hug my mother and tell her that I love her, and that I will do whatever I can to bring Prim home, I turn to the Peacekeepers waiting for us and tell them that I need to use the restroom before we leave for the train. I am sure to double-check my prosthesis for the presence of the knife that Cinna gave me before we head out the door.

The ride to the train station is a blur. Before I know it, Haymitch, Peeta, and I are on the train headed for District 11. We are alone except for the Peacekeepers that have accompanied us in the event that any of us were to try something irrational; they have guns and are positioned menacingly at the front and rear of the train car. The pressure is too much; I break down and cry for my sister.

Peeta puts his arm around my shoulders once again, and I am grateful for the support, but something is plaguing me. I ask him and Haymitch through broken sobs if they are sure that everything went okay three weeks ago. I want to add …._you know, when Snow asked to speak to you guys and Prim about whether the Victory Tour preparation was going well?_...but I refrain, of course. I am terrified to say anything here in this Capitol train that is sure to be bugged. Peeta and Haymitch both nod their heads, bewildered at what possibly could have happened.

Haymitch eventually tries to comfort me as well, putting his arm around my other shoulder and telling me to _'just say what I was going to say, sweetheart'_. I involuntarily shudder as I wonder if he has already revealed too much. I don't respond except with more sobs.

This time, I don't even look out the window as we pass the fields and pastures of District 11 some time later. I am too wound up. Though I am finished crying for now, I can't stop biting my fingernails, and the terrible feeling that started in the pit of my stomach has now overtaken the rest of my body. I can't stop thinking about where Prim is right now and what the Capitol could be doing to her, even though the thoughts not only tear me apart but are completely unproductive. I am so jittery and anxious that I can't even look at the perfect-looking array of food that the Capitol has presented to us for lunch. Haymitch insists that I eat a smallish piece of a croissant, but when it hits my stomach it is almost immediately rejected, and I have to excuse myself to go throw up over the side of the train. When I turn around to go back inside, stomach still queasy, I see that a Peacekeeper has followed me out. _Great._ No means whatsoever to discuss anything with Haymitch or Peeta in relative privacy.

When we arrive in District 11, we are escorted immediately to the second floor of the Justice Building, where Effie, Cinna, Portia, and our prep teams are waiting for us. The prep teams are oblivious as usual, but Cinna regards me with a solemn look, and we make eye contact that communicates more than a lot of conversations could. He knows that something awful is going on and that I'm too terrified to speak up about it, especially with looming Peacekeeper presence. His gaze is as comforting as anyone else's, but it still doesn't dispel my nerves, my fear, my sadness that Prim is gone.

Cinna hurries out to check on something, thankfully taking the Peacekeepers with him, leaving me alone with the prep team. I am washed, scrubbed, conditioned, rinsed, waxed, shaved, tweezed, and given applications of God knows how many beauty scrubs, toners, lotions, and perfumes. Venia, Flavius, and Octavia chat excitedly around me, but I don't pay attention to a word that they're saying. Though I am fairly sure many of their questions were directed at me, they seem to be okay with halfhearted nods and no spoken reply.

After a time, Cinna returns with a lone Peacekeeper. Thank goodness I am robed at this point and that the Peacekeeper can't see my prosthesis. The first thing that Cinna does is lean close and give me a hug, whispering quickly in my ear, "She's alive and here." He then straightens himself in a fluid motion and raises his voice, starting to brief me on the maternity outfit that he has planned for me to wear. His eyes are apologetic- _I wish I could say more_. It doesn't matter. Relief floods through me. Prim's alive! She's here! He starts to talk about how this year he designed our Victory Tour clothes to be a little more costum-y, more garish, more Games-like, but because we had such a bold statement to make, that he felt that they would be more appropriate. But I tune him out after the first few sentences- I simply don't have the attention span right now to listen to him describe my attire in detail after hearing that Prim is here- I am so emotional that the full impact of my outfit doesn't hit me until Cinna pulls it out for me to see.

Since I still represent fire to the people of Panem, there is very bright and intricate flame detailing that is conspicuously placed around my midsection- I'm guessing it will emphasize what I hope people will think is my pregnant belly. Aside from the vibrant colors of the flames around my middle, however, the turtlenecked one-piece full-length bodysuit and matching hat are merely a drab grayish color. They remind me of ashes.

"I thought I would try to combine a few elements from you and your sister's past designs," Cinna explains. "You and Peeta are the girl and boy on fire. Your sister is the canary. Maybe this new baby-" Cinna says the word nonchalantly but the twinkle in his eye as he looks at me at that moment is unmistakable, "-that the people of Panem can't wait to see can be a phoenix, ready to be reborn."


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13:

So the gray _was_ supposed to represent ashes. I make it a point to ooooh and aaaaah appreciatively at Cinna's work, though I am still far too distracted to pay as much attention as I normally would. As I go to inspect the garments a little more closely, however, I do notice something. Upon touching it, I see that parts of the gray material are completely different texturally than the flame detailing which will cover the prosthesis. It looks eerily similar to something else I've seen, but that I can't quite place. It takes me a second, but then it hits me- _Cato_. It looks like the mesh of the protective armor that he wore at the end of the 74th Hunger Games. When I give Cinna a surprised and questioning look, he gives me an ever-so-slight nod of his head.

"Isn't that fabric pretty?" he asks gently, a line for the Peacekeeper, the Capitol bugs. "But it was extraordinarily expensive, and I was only able to secure a couple of yards," he says apologetically, by way of explanation as to why I wouldn't be engulfed in multiple layers of the stuff. I nod in understanding- the material was risky for him to obtain, and even riskier to use. Cinna had carefully placed patches of the fabric at my most vulnerable locations- heart, neck, thighs- and the hat was made of the protective mesh as well. I wasn't 100% protected- my face was still showing, and there was no mesh on my prosthesis- but I wonder if Cinna had managed to slip something protective in the rubber itself. I also realize that my midsection is probably the safest region of my body anyway- no Peacekeeper would shoot at the fetus of a supposedly pregnant girl if they didn't want to incite absolute fury in response. And the flame detail is so vivid that from any kind of distance it distracts the eye, keeping people from noticing that much of the rest of me will be clothed essentially in armor. Once again, his work is genius.

"Thank you, Cinna," I say. Nothing I can say can express the level of my gratitude. But I give him a hug and squeeze him tightly, and I think that he understands. He also takes the opportunity to whisper something else in my ear.

"I designed your sister's costume with some of the same material," he quickly says before letting me go. He clearly doesn't want to get into a conversation about it, not with the Peacekeeper observing us. But as soon as he says it my eyes start to fill with tears, and I nod at him in response. He's trying to keep Prim as safe as I am. I wonder again if she's okay.

Rather than getting emotional, Cinna quickly goes to work in dressing me. He is sure to stand in front of me as he slips my outfit on, obscuring my prosthesis from the Peacekeeper who is still in the room, now standing guard next to the door. He makes sure the suit fits perfectly, the flames emphasizing the prosthesis the way he imagined, and puts finishing touches on my hair and makeup. After several minutes, he steps back and looks at me approvingly.

"I have to go now, Katniss," he says, nodding at me, leaning in momentarily to kiss me on the cheek. "You look perfect. But I'm also your sister's stylist, and I need to spend some time with her. I wish that you could come with me, but your orders are to stay here," he gestures to the Peacekeeper at the door. "He'll entertain you," he says, "and someone will be back in a couple of hours to accompany you to the square." Cinna brushes past the Peacekeeper as he heads out the door.

_Great_, I think_._ A couple of _hours_? This is an entirely different situation from last year; we spent no time in the Justice Building at all, but rather pretty much went straight from the train through the Justice Building to the verandah. But this year Cinna had more than one person to style, we didn't have to stop while we were on the train, and we did leave early, after all. So I guess I'm stuck here for a while.

It is amazing how a couple of hours alone with a Peacekeeper can mess with your mind. It's as though President Snow was trying to send me a message himself: _See? See what happens if you disobey me? You'll be left alone._ I don't try to chit-chat with the Peacekeeper; he looks businesslike and therefore unfriendly. So I just sit there, all the while anxiety and worry and fear are growing in my mind, with absolutely nothing there to stop it or even slow it down.

By the time Peeta knocks on the door, I am a nervous wreck. Being alone with my thoughts for the last couple of hours has transformed me. The comfort that Cinna provided has long vanished. Peeta immediately smiles at my outfit, especially the way my stomach is emphasized, but it does little to put me at ease. He tells me that we are to go down to the first floor of the Justice Building, where several other people will meet us. He grabs my hand, which is now cold and clammy as I am almost petrified with fear. I cannot believe that the moment that we've been discussing for the past five months is finally here. And I have to go through it all without being able to say anything reassuring to the person who matters to me the most, my sister. The only thing that I can be grateful for is the fact that Snow didn't choose to separate Peeta and I. Though how could he? It would work completely against his 'star-crossed lovers' angle.

When we get downstairs, the Peacekeeper from upstairs following closely behind us, we see Haymitch and Effie. They are ready to walk out to the verandah, but Haymitch hears us arrive behind him and turns his head around to acknowledge us before he steps out to the crowd. His eyes plead with me- _just do what we planned_ is what I think I see in them. I give him an imperceptible nod of my head, but I am completely shaken inside. They quickly disappear from sight at the same time that the audience applauds loudly.

A few moments later, Cinna brings Prim down behind us. She is dressed in a yellow bodysuit and hat, reminiscent of her canary costumes but not quite so over-the-top, and her hair and makeup are extraordinarily done. But they can't mask her eyes, which look weary and a little sunken in- like she didn't get a lick of sleep. _The Capitol must have taken her last night_, I immediately think. Questioned her. Tortured her maybe? Last night flashes through my head, images of Peeta and I in bed while my sister is abducted, and suddenly I am racked with guilt. _We should have all spent the last night together_, I think. _I should have been there for her- stayed at mother's with her, or stayed with her when I walked her home. This would never have happened. _

Involuntarily, I scream Prim's name, and move to hug her- but I am quickly stopped by the Peacekeeper assigned to me who harshly grabs my forearm. Peeta keeps my hand grasped tightly, holding me back, too, when he sees how forcefully the Peacekeeper reacts.

Prim reacts quickly, too, screaming 'Katniss!' and trying to come toward me, but I notice that she's flanked by numerous Peacekeepers- at least eight or ten- all with rifles. Instantaneously, they pull her back as several each take one of her limbs, rendering her completely immobile, covering her eyes to prevent her from seeing me, covering her mouth to muffle the screams. Upon seeing this, I immediately retract, terrified.

The Peacekeepers carry her past Peeta and I towards the verandah- apparently she is to be introduced first. As they make their way past me, Prim still completely incapacitated, Peeta continues to hold my other hand, squeezing it, gently reminding me that any move that I make could get _both_ of us hurt. The Peacekeeper is still holding onto me, too, but in a much less comforting way. My eyes fill with tears again as I realize how utterly helpless Prim is.

Without additional fanfare, Prim is shoved onto the verandah by the Peacekeepers just as her name is broadcast throughout the District square. Prim reluctantly takes a few steps forward, the army of Peacekeepers positioned just behind her, pointing their weapons at her like a firing squad. They are cleverly concealed from the audience, hidden inside the Justice Building behind curtains- but from where we are standing, we can observe them clear as day. The partial protection that Prim has from her bodysuit that Cinna constructed is absolutely no match for them. My breath hitches.

Prim begins to speak. We are still a bit far from her as well as the speakers set up to broadcast her voice throughout the square- not to mention my heart is pounding loudly in my ears- and I can't hear her. I gently urge Peeta and the Peacekeeper forward, towards the verandah, but making very slow and deliberate moves so as not to alarm them. By the time we take several steps forward, ever-so-faintly I hear her voice that the speakers seem to be projecting better than she is. And it takes me a moment, but I quickly realize that the speech that she is giving is completely unlike the one that I heard so many times before.

It is utter Capitol propaganda. How the Games and Quell have made Panem better, how the rebellion at the end of the Quell was a mistake. I can't even listen to the absolute garbage spewing from her mouth. But how can I possibly judge her? I have no idea what she went through last night. I am quite certain that I don't want to know.

Despite my efforts to tune her out, a line at the end of her little speech snaps me out of my daze. I hear her distinctly say, "My sister and Peeta are here too- they have something that they want to share with all of you. And I'm not trying to steal their thunder, but let me put it this way- I've been stocking up on little pink blankets and booties." The audience goes nuts as she lets loose a giggle, one that I immediately recognize as being so fake that the pieces of the puzzle instantly click together in my mind.

The Capitol knows our plans. They know that Prim's original speech was about the rebellion, not the Quell. They know the code word. They have threatened her with immediate death if she doesn't try to steer me away from saying it. And in the last line that Prim spoke is a threat for me, too- if I say I'm having a boy now they will kill me and my sister right then and there. If a war was going to start anyway, why not?

Before I realize it, Peeta and I are shoved forward to join Prim. The Capitol audience begins screaming even louder. I steal a quick glance at Peeta, who looks completely shell-shocked from Prim's last line.

Prim turns to hand the microphone to me and for the briefest of moments meets my gaze. In that second I can see the extraordinary pain in her eyes, and the pleading look that she gives me is absolutely haunting. I thought that I was willing to sacrifice just about anything for the rebellion, but that fraction of a second told me that there was only one thing I could say.

"Yes, that's right," I say as I attempt a fake giggle myself. "We're having a girl."


End file.
